


the flint for her fire.

by daftusername



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Multi, Self-Harm, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftusername/pseuds/daftusername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>warnings for self-harm at the end. spoilers for the series.</p>
    </blockquote>





	the flint for her fire.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for self-harm at the end. spoilers for the series.

he doesn’t call her sweetheart when they’re fucking. when it’s all gasps and pulled hair and choking and scratches. when she squeezes her eyes because it’s too much and when she opens them wide as she cums, the sensation like a punch in the stomach, taking her breath away. he takes her breath away. it doesn’t seem fair, she thinks, that he can shock her and make her feel in ways peeta or gale never could. the way he makes her heart beat too fast, choking her and making her see, too much. the way him touching anybody else makes her heart seize with jealousy. she does not love him. she repeats that to herself every morning, afternoon, and night. she does not love him. it’s something worse, something that twists up her heart until she’s not sure she knows what love is supposed to feel like.  
things are…comfortable with peeta, a warmth she feels with him around. he is necessary to her survival (gale was wrong-they are all necessary to her survival) because he understands the specific nightmares, the specific flashbacks, the ways in which a dog or fire could take her back to moments in which she thought it was the end.  
and gale-gale is her childhood. the time when she thought she could possibly grow up halfway decent. when she thought she could be a halfway decent person. when she thought she was better than the hunger games. when the thought of killing another person was unthinkable to her, when she thought she could not kill somebody, regardless of her survival.

but him-

he is a reminder of everything she hates about herself. a reflection of all the things that separates her from gale and peeta. he understands her in ways nobody else can. he understands. understands how it does not make her inhuman or evil to not be peeta. to be changed in the worst ways by the hunger games. to become driven by hatred. to live off of hatred, off the desire to kill this one person who becomes the symbol of everything that killed her. to be dead.

the first moment she thinks he might become a real danger is when she sits down and takes that first drink with him. the burning spreads down her throat, into her chest. she thinks later that maybe this is the first introduction of this thing that he has become to her, this…disease. he crawls through her system and makes her weaker. but-and this is the worst part-he makes her stronger too. he drives her to do the things that allows her and those she loves to survive.

it’s not until she feels his skin under her fingernails that she realizes this is going to ruin her. it’s when she watches her nails slide down his face that she realizes it already has. 

she becomes everything she never wanted to be, and he talks in her ear the whole time, a reminder of why she has become this person (is she a person anymore?)

she feels those fingers around her throat and her lungs collapse in a way that has nothing to do with losing air. she hates herself for this, that she was weak enough to be part of destroying peeta in a way she swore, swore to never let happen. she hates him even more now, because he told her, told her to make it real. she didn’t want to, ever. she doesn’t want that burden. what is love besides a burden? her entire life has showed her that love is cruel and heavy and impossible to live with. but he told her to love the boy with the bread-so she can live.

she later thinks that maybe there was selfish reasoning on his part. then she wonders if she could live without him. it makes her loathe herself more when she realizes that she probably couldn’t.

it’s his eyes that keep her in that chair. his eyes that make her fingers itch for that white liquid. she thinks that maybe if she could feel the burn of the alcohol that she can deal with not feeling the warmth of his fingers. if she can’t have his fire (he burnt off of alcohol, fumes that drove people away and she realizes that she burnt off of a hunger to live that suffocates when she can’t find anything to live for) then she could find her fire in a bottle. 

it’s his wry smile that makes her open the door to peeta. it’s his smile that makes her take a shower that first time, peel off the clothes that still stink of failure. it’s his smile that makes her whisper an apology to peeta for the first time, an acknowledgement of everything she did wrong by him. it’s his smile that makes her be honest, finally, with her therapist; a decision that makes her see the sky as blue for the first time since she last felt peeta’s lips on hers. it’s his smile that makes her yield to peeta, finally. she doesn’t know if it’s love that she feels for him, but the boy with the bread deserves something to make up for everything she took away from him.

it’s his fingers that makes her finally say yes to children. it’s his fingers she feels as she feels the first kick and the tangible fear along with it. it’s his fingers she feels as she watches golden curls bounce, grimy fingers wave, red lips smile. it’s his fingers she feels as she tries to be happy, tries so hard.

it’s his blood she sees when she screams into her pillow, cries into the water of her shower, drags a knife across her arms. 

she wonders what he sees or feels or hears as she watches him lose himself to drink again, the sneer that he gives her when she walks by, arms filled with groceries for her family. her family that does not include him. she feels his eyes following her back and she refuses to look back, a final insult to the man who set her on fire.


End file.
